


An Ancient Song

by DistractibleDingo



Series: Where You Are [3]
Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It was supposed to be angst and it became fluff and I'm not sure what to do now because this is new, Male-Female Friendship, Nightmares, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Prompt Fill, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistractibleDingo/pseuds/DistractibleDingo
Summary: The nightmares didn’t wait long to come, and it looks like they won’t be leaving any time soon. But Moana can talk to someone about them now, and that counts for something.Alternatively, Moana Also Needs Hugs and Inspiring Speeches, but Maui isn’t Good with Either.





	An Ancient Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperjamBipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperjamBipper/gifts).



> _Prompt: I heard you were taking Moana prompts? Here's a concept: Moana wakes up in the middle of the night due to some awful nightmare about something. Maui tries to comfort her, but because he's Not Great with words, he's not exactly sure how. In her exhausted state, Moana, completely as a joke, asks him to sing for her instead. But Maui takes her request 100% seriously and complies._
> 
>  
> 
> I just realised this would tie in quite nicely as a sort of follow-up to _Breathe It In_ and would fit into the series proper instead of as an appendix, so here we go, this takes place maybe a little over a week after their “no more Warrior Faces” conversation.
> 
> Y'know what let's call this a really late birthday present, because it is soooo much sweeter than I set out for it to be, and it reminds me of your adorable little moments for them anyway.

Not for the first time that week, Moana wakes up in tears.

But at the very least she wakes up still lying down, and she wakes up in silence, and that’s a comfort, even if it is a small one.

She wipes the wetness from her face and takes a steadying breath as her surroundings come into focus and her eyes adjust.

It’s dark still, probably the middle of the night going by the fact the chickens aren’t up yet. Starlight streams in through the one open screen in the _fale_ , the blue and white occasionally broken up by the oranges and yellows from the torches outside, and as her eyes adjust further she can make out her parents curled in sleep at the far end of the _fale_ , her father snoring face-down into his bedroll. Which is another comfort, because she can only imagine how her sleep troubles have been affecting them lately.

The clogged nose helps make sure her sigh comes out long and shaky, and she tries to get back to sleep.

Pua stirs awake beside her. He stares and grunts a couple of times in concern before he adjusts his position so that he’s lying in direct contact with her stomach, for both his and Moana’s peace of mind. She drapes an arm around him in thanks, and he snuggles further against her stomach.

Moana closes her eyes.

And the stars continue their paths across the sky, and the world continues to turn, and, maddeningly, sleep continues to stay just out of reach.

It feels like an hour before she reaches the frayed, black edges between waking and dreams, and when she does all she finds is the image coming back, of fire and hatred, of the knowledge of a sure death as ashes fill her lungs and her body explodes into flame. She can feel the heat burning away her skin and her muscles, the agony as her bones begin to cook and then snap, the failure, the failure as the Heart falls back into the sea—

She grips Pua closer before her eyes fly open, and the first thing she sees is starlight through the open screen, hazy and distorted under a film of tears.

She would not be sleeping again tonight.

Moana wipes her eyes again, takes another shaky breath, and gets up to put away her bedroll. She gently nudges Pua aside as she does so, ignoring the concern in his eyes as he realises she’s not going back to bed.

He doesn’t listen to the sad pat on the head and the whispered request to go back to sleep.

She doesn’t listen to his insistence that no, he will not just stay here while she goes out.

Neither of them are happy when she silently leaves, Pua in tow.

The village is completely different at night, before the _fale_ screens are raised and the roads fill with people and livestock and goods. It’s like some abandoned place, far out of reach of her home, where she could expect all sorts of beasts and spirits just out of the corner of her eye, waiting to drag her into some unspeakable fate. Which is ridiculous, she knows. It’s still Motunui, and the central part of the village besides. The people are still around and they’re all perfectly safe. But there was something about the night, wasn’t there, about the early hours before the daytime birds woke up, when it’s just easier to believe in magic and the creatures of myth.

Then again, it’s not like she’d be surprised to see them actually showing up now, after what she’s seen.

Moana drags a hand down her face and takes another, steadier, breath.

She’s not sure where she’s going, really. She might just be moving for the sake of moving, or moving to tire herself out enough that when sleep does come it comes without dreams. Whatever she’s doing, wherever she’s going, it’s not long before she finds she’s not alone.

The instincts kick in before she can even really think straight, the ones that force her to hide in case it’s another Lalotai situation, and before she knows it she’s crouched behind a bush, straining as hard as she can to make out the forms from a distance.

“Because it doesn’t make any sense, that’s why!”

Maui?

She looks harder, and it occurs absurdly late to her that the _fale_ she’s hiding beside is also the one that smells of oranges and orange blossoms, its outside posts swathed in coconut fronds and its tapa screens still fresh and new with darker dye, yet to fade. She’s at Maui’s _fale_ , the one they prepared for his visit. If she were to sneak in she’d find oranges hanging from the rafters, orange foliage decorating the inside columns, and various flowers concealing the bottom of the central post. And, apparently, no one inside.

She frowns.

The moon and the evening torchlight can illuminate him only so much, but now that she’s more awake she can see it’s definitely him, and he’s talking to … someone.

(Or something.)

Whatever it is it’s not something she can see.

Pua snorts softly beside her, and she grabs him before he can charge in to see what seems to be both scaring and intriguing her.

“Really? Really,” Maui says, talking to … his hook? “You want to sacrifice your colours—the beautiful colours _I gave your kind and spent actual time planning the colour scheme for_ , for a fashion choice. You're nocturnal; how would you even _notice_ what colour you are?”

Silence.

“Do you know how many meetings I had to have with Rehua and Tāne-matua to get those colour schemes approved?” he says. “Because it was a lot. You try getting any of those brothers to agree on anything.”

And Pua is off.

She scrambles after him but it’s too late, he’s sitting at the demigod’s side, head tilted as he gazes up at him. Moana looks up to find a confused Maui and an equally confused owl, staring right back down.

“Moana?” Maui says, his voice softening. “What are you doing up so late?”

It’s hard to look haughty while she’s sprawled on the ground and yawning, but she does her best anyway. “I could ask you the same question.”

Maui raises an eyebrow. “Demigod,” he says, and offers a hand to help her up. “Remember? Now what’s up? Why are you sneaking around at this hour?”

She yawns again as she takes his hand. “What were you talking to?” she says, lifting herself up and looking around. “Was it some sort of spirit?”

“Pfft, if by spirit you mean ungrateful little creature of the night,” he says. “No one would even be able to see birds if I didn't have to paint them, but do they say thank you? No, now they all think they're artists. I still get the occasional critic.”

It could be a trick of the distant torchlight, but she could swear the owl on his hook is glaring at him.

He was talking to the owl? And not even some sort of ghost disguised as an owl, just a regular owl? That was his mysterious demigod business?

“Not doing it, lady,” Maui says, definitely talking to the owl. “I just came back from a thousand years in exile for crossing one deity. Not gonna risk crossing two.”

This glare probably isn’t a trick of the light.

“Look, can we have a raincheck on this?” Maui says to the owl. “I kinda need to talk to my friend.”

From seemingly out of nowhere, the owl tosses a dead forest rat at Maui’s feet.

“I told you, it’s not an issue of payment,” Maui says. “Give that to your _kid_ , Lulu. Isn’t that why you were out tonight? To feed your _child?_ ”

Another dead forest rat lands at Maui’s feet.

He rolls his eyes.

“What’d I say?” he says. “ _Another time_.”

The owl screeches before she picks the rats back up and then flies off towards the forest.

Maui sighs, like he’d had this argument a million times “Owls,” he says. “Can you believe there are places that see them as sources of wisdom?”

“They what?”

“Yeah, don’t get me started,” he says, shaking that screech out of his ears. “So what's up, Chosen One? What brings you to see your favourite demigod in the middle of the night?”

“Really?” Moana says. “Favourite?”

“You met any other demigods?”

“No.”

“Then I’m your favourite,” he smirks.

It takes a concerted effort to roll her eyes, and the end result is pathetic, but it’s at least enough to get a smile out of him.

“No, but really,” he says, and his voice is softening again as he lays a gentle hand on her back and leads her towards his _fale_. “You look like you don’t wanna be up right now. Everything okay?”

She shakes her head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just … “ she trails off. “Woke up too early, I guess. I dunno. I thought maybe a walk would help me get back to sleep.”

There’s a second or two when they turn so they can sit at the _fale_ entrance, when the torchlight nearby hits his face and she can see him thinking, the same way he did the morning he told her he doesn’t want her deference. It’s brief, and he catches himself earlier than he usually would, but it’s too late, she’s seen it. He’s concerned, just like everyone else in the village has been ever since her nightmares came back.

Maui tries to force a smile, a joke in his voice as they sit. “Moana,” he says. “Come on.”

“It’s nothing, Maui, really,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”

For something that Maui supposedly had no control over, Mini Maui certainly chose some really convenient times to back Maui up when he really needed it. The little tattoo wriggles to life before her, crossing its arms as it echoes the look of incredulity on his host’s face. Beside her, Pua joins in, head tilted and eyes on her.

Moana huffs, and turns her attention to the fires of the torches nearby.

The scent of oranges and orange blossoms fills the silence between them while they both think of something to say.

Maui keeps a respectable distance, but she can feel him barely holding in his urge to bounce or twitch or move, his concern boring into her like he might as well have moved closer anyway. “Mo, you can talk to me,” he says. “You know that, right? We talked about this. I mean, I got nowhere to be. It’s either you or an owl that insists on becoming pink for some reason.”

“ _That’s_ what you were fighting about?” she says. “I thought that was demigod business!”

“Not the subject here,” he says, “but yeah. Sometimes demigod business covers dumb tiny things like that. You’re gonna be chief; you know what that’s like.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I guess I do.”

Maui goes quiet, and there are a couple of attempts at asking a question before he reconsiders.

It takes him a while but he speaks up eventually.

“It was another nightmare,” he says, “wasn't it?”

She keeps her eyes on the nearest torch, on the flame dancing in the darkness, as she curses her eyes already threatening to mist over, her chest beginning to hitch.

Maui turns to face her better.

“What was it this time,” he says. “Lalotai? The storm?”

Moana swallows.

“Te Kā again, huh?”

She nods.

“C’mere.”

And for reasons she can’t quite find the words for, it makes all the difference to shuffle closer to him, to know one of his huge shoulders is there in case she needs something to lean on. Not that she'd tell him, but knowing him he’s probably picked it up anyway.

She continues looking at the torch, even as the bags under her eyes threaten to shutter them closed and never let them open again. She barely notices when Pua lays his head on her lap and snorts, offering himself up for petting.

She sighs.

She did promise, didn't she. No more Warrior Faces.

“It’s just, it's been nearly six months since Te Fiti,” she says, a hand gently running down Pua’s head. “How am I supposed to be chief if I can't handle a few dreams? How am I supposed to lead everyone to new lands if I'm this messed up from my first voyage?”

Maui scoffs. “You? A bad leader?” he says, and there’s a shift in his voice when she doesn’t snap out of it right away. “Really? You’re worried about that happening? Kid, look at me. Look.”

She does, reluctantly, though the look of heartbreak in his face is enough to make her regret that decision.

“You really think normal voyages would be anywhere near that dangerous? Or that anyone else would’ve come out of that adventure and _not_ have nightmares?” he says. “You really think, after what you survived, it'd be hard for you to be an awesome chief? After everything you did out there, everything you saved?”

Her hands grip at her hair as the frustration builds in her chest, only to dissolve out into the night air as she breathes out. “It’s dumb, I know.”

“Stop,” he says. “Moana, no, don't.”

She does, and as soon as she does she can feel him beginning to regret that decision.

“I mean,” he says, “your dad has nightmares, too, sometimes, right? Of that time his boat went under?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“And is he a bad chief for that?”

“Of course not.”

“So why’s it different when it's you?” he says.

And she genuinely isn't sure how to answer that.

If this were six months ago, before the nightmares became a regular thing and before she couldn’t pretend it was all just some grand adventure from Gramma Tala’s stories, she’d have a quip just ready to go, so good she could make Maui shut up and Mini Maui smugly add another point to the scoreboard. But it’s not, and she’s tired, and sleep continues to taunt her, drawing her vision to black for a second at a time before drifting back out of her reach.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see him beginning to fidget, a hand absently rolling a pebble on the _fale_ entrance between his thumb and a finger. “Have you been changing the endings, at least?”

“What do you think?” she nearly snaps.

“Moana, you need to try change the endings if you’re gonna deal with the nightmares.”

“I _do_ try,” she says. “I’ve been doing the breathing. I relax my muscles. I don’t talk about work before bed. I do my usual routines instead of being alone. I’ve been doing everything you said, Maui; all I’ve been doing is trying.”

And now she wishes she didn’t say anything.

“It helps, don’t get me wrong,” she says. “The nightmares and flashbacks don’t happen as often now, but … ”

The flame continues to burn in the darkness, a shock of orange and red amongst the black and the starlight, and Maui continues to roll the pebble between his fingers, his eyes on her.

“I mean how sad is it that even after I do everything right, after I do all the exercises and talking,” she says, “there’s still a problem? I still don't get better?”

There's an answer in Maui, somewhere in that huge heart of his, but for the life of him he just can't get it out and it shows.

“That’s not your fault,” Maui says, equal parts sadness and anger at something he knows he can't fight off with his hook. “Listen to me, healing takes time, and those techniques are supposed to help you. You're not supposed to be—Moana, if they're not working, we could try other things—”

“I just can’t get a hold on the endings,” she says. “I die, or you die, or we both fail, and I watch the darkness kill my village. Starting with my parents.”

“Mo … ”

“I know, I know, it’s not even what happened,” she says, her hands back to gripping at her hair. “But maybe that’s what makes it different from when Dad has nightmares. Because at least he’s not just making stuff up.”

“But it’s not on purpose,” Maui says. “You’re not doing it for attention, Moana. That's your brain. That's your head messing with you.”

“I know that,” she says. “I do. But for some reason it doesn't help to just know.”

His eyes are boring through her again, and she can feel him wanting to reach out, but he continues fiddling with the stones of the entrance, waiting for her to feel safer and make the first move.

“I’m sorry, Mo,” he says. “I guess I wish I knew how else to help, you know? The talking stuff, that's always been a weak spot. Didn't learn it from the gods, grew up with more bird friends than actual people. Fighting things and stealing stuff, that’s different. Talking? I mean—if I could fight your dreams for you, I would.”

She chuckles at the image of it: Maui, somehow showing up to physically fight her dreams, and her relaxing seems to soothe him, as well.

Maui’s body is both softer and harder than it looks at first glance. The vast expanses of pure muscle are padded nicely with softness, making him just about ideal for hugs. Or in this case, just as a soft thing to lean against. She settles into the huge shoulder against her cheek, and lets out a sigh. His hands stop fidgeting and let the pebble roll off into the grass below. There’s a pause before he almost sort of leans back in return, his head dipped a little in her direction.

The black, frayed edges between waking and dreams sway in her direction, just out of reach. She’s barely conscious when she mumbles, “Sing to me.”

“What?”

She’s laughing now. “Okay, yeah, forget it, it’s silly,” she says. “Like I’m a little kid, or one of your bird friends.”

“Don’t, Curly,” he says. “I just meant it’s kind of a surprise. I don’t exactly have your dad’s pipes. Or your mom’s. You sure?”

“My parents need the sleep,” she says. “You don’t.”

She can't see it, but knows Mini Maui just added another point to the board.

There’s a smile in Maui’s voice now, a looseness in the way he holds himself. “The demigod business never ends, huh?” he says. “Okay, Chosen One. I got something in mind.”

He clears his throat. “A couple of my daughters used to have nightmares,” he says, “about something that happened, a long time ago. Messed them up pretty bad. This isn’t a song like the ones you’re used to, but it did help them sleep.”

She turns to look up at him. “You had daughters?” she says. “What happened, why’d they get nightmares?”

“Not exactly a bedtime story, kid,” he says, “I’ll fill you in later.”

She yawns. “Just gonna keep asking until you tell me.”

“You want the song or not?”

She yawns again, and tries to close her eyes as Pua lies beside her, ready to be used as a pillow. The light from all that time looking at the flame lingers, glowing blue spots against the darkness. “Fine,” she says. “The song.”

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t even flinch when she settles in further and just about uses one of his huge, firm, soft, shoulders as a pillow. “Get comfy. And don’t freak out if you see anything.”

She nods, and he begins.

_May you be set apart, as is fitting for a descendant of Tuariki;_  
_May you be set apart, as is fitting for a descendant of Porouhorea;_  
_Let only your younger relative be free from restriction._  
_Soar gracefully on high, O chieftainess_

He’s right. It’s not a song like she’s used to, or a chant, or a prayer, or one of Maui’s hakas. It’s something else entirely, a rhythmic poem with ebbs and flows, drawing her in and pushing her back like the softer waves on the beach, and just like with the loud bombastic anthem to himself he belted the day they met, Moana begins to see things that aren’t there.

It occurs to her, vaguely and not for the first time, just how ancient Maui is, and just how much about him she still has to learn.

_Do not, O sir, give her food from the common earth-oven,_  
_But feed her from the oven reserved for her kind,_  
_With the dark-fleshed taro, that she may chew with relish,_

The darkness begins to fade away, bringing with it the memories of the stinging torchlight and the fires of Te Kā, and instead of a sleeping village, empty and quiet, or a place from her journeys, bright and full of danger, she sees a village somewhere far off, a long time ago, with a people she had never seen the likes of before. Different tattoos, different clothes, even different hair. And for all the differences between them and her people, or even them and her ancestors, they feel safe—familiar, even. The smell of oranges and orange blossoms gives way to the scent of taro being cooked, and the night air grows warm and comforting with the gentle glow of a late afternoon.

She sees someone, somewhere long ago, destined to grow into a leader, taken on a journey to learn who she is and where she comes from, and, after the journey is done, she would have no doubt of her worth and her legacy. Sleep is beginning to creep into the edges of her consciousness, but the message behind the song choice is obvious even to her.

She doesn’t notice when exactly she had moved from his shoulder to rest her head against the soft tapa of his _lavalava_ , her body all curled up and content despite the stone floor, and she doesn’t complain when Maui moves a hesitant hand to stroke her hair.

_You are bedecked with the ornaments of Wharawhara_  
_To signify, that no one may mistake you,_  
_Te Paekura pendent from your ear, Waikanae in your hand—_

Moana settles in further, as she feels her body begin to fall into darkness, and the edge between waking and dreams actually rises up to meet her instead of her trying and failing to reach.

_Precious things for you, little maid._

The last thing she’s aware of is Maui’s hand still stroking her hair as he begins the song again, like he wants to make sure that’s all she dreams about tonight.

(And she probably would.)

It's almost all she can ask for, to fall asleep like this, surrounded in this feeling of safety.

When Moana wakes it’s back in her family’s _fale_ , on her own bedroll, Pua by her side and the sunlight streaming in through the one open screen. She stretches and gives herself a second to stroke Pua a little under the chin, and before the sleep can wear off and she can panic about waking up after dawn she basks in the feeling of bagless eyes, a clear throat, and the fading fog of a restful sleep.

And the knowledge that, for the first time this week, she woke up smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone’s interested, the song here is Sir Apirana Ngata’s [English translation](https://books.google.com.ph/books?id=y_8PlcaPY8EC&pg=PA5&lpg=PA5&dq=Do+not,+O+sir,+give+her+food+from+the+common+earth-oven,&source=bl&ots=ZBCA44ciTs&sig=qG5LVuxhILAmsZF0odquH2pi5W8&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwj28Pn1hrrTAhUJV7wKHXk0B4MQ6AEIIzAA#v=onepage&q=Do%20not%2C%20O%20sir%2C%20give%20her%20food%20from%20the%20common%20earth-oven%2C&f=false) of _He waiata Oriori nā Hinekitawhiti_ , from Ngāti Porou, audio recording [here](https://youtu.be/vntuo-iIq9g) because while I picked the English translation for I guess clarity and continuity later, the original really does lull you with its rhythms. And for what it’s worth there is a [fascinating documentary](https://youtu.be/00Og1nd9_Hc) all about similar lullabies for free on YouTube, with songs I had considered using instead.


End file.
